Masters of Flux & Anchor

by Jack L. Chalker

  “The point, gentlemen, is simply that after attaining power we simply reversed what we had experienced and made that our sole objective no matter what we mouthed. In so doing, we said that our own past slavery was not wrong or evil, only to be reversed. We agreed with our former mistresses that might was the only thing that mattered, and that we had no moral objections to the system, that the only thing that was wrong was that we were on the bottom and they were on the top.”

  “A generally unnatural position,” Champion cracked. “Again I ask, ‘so what?’ It is the way of things.”

  “It is the way of things because we were raised to believe it was!” Tilghman almost shouted. “If we are nothing more than a bunch of petty Fluxlords then I have wasted much of my life here. The general wants another Empire. I want a revolution. I want a world where somebody draws a line and says it’s wrong. I want to establish the concept of nation, of culture, as it is in the ancient writings. I want a country—that’s the ancient term for it. A country in which people live and work according to a set of fixed laws, not somebody’s unrestrained fantasies. A country that eliminates magic as its basis, so that the best may move to the top, not those with some inborn power. We have the means, do we not, Doctor Sligh? Haven’t we, in fact, had the means for better than eight years?”

  The big, dark man nodded. “We do. Or, at least, we believe we do.”

  “I tried to establish this quickly, when Nantzee was overrun, but was argued out of it by the doctor. Wait for Mareh, he said, and I agreed. But we took a very long time to take Mareh, and in the meantime my proposals were always shoved back by this Committee. I’ve heard all the reasons and rationalizations, but they really disguise the true problem. It’s fear. Fear of reprisal from the other Anchors and Fluxlords, fear of whether or not our system can really stand without the crutch of Flux, fear, really, of the very concept of revolution itself. Well, we now can manufacture anything we need without a Fluxlord to duplicate it. We are far more vulnerable to a mass attack now than if we take my path. We know how to feed, clothe, house, and administer society in large groups. Now it all boils down to the basics—which shall we choose for our people’s future? Mind—or magic? Empresses and goddesses with a sex change—or men with guts and vision?”

  That stung them all, but eventually touched off a long and searing debate. Champion, the least visionary of the ruling group, was always the most opposed to any change, even the slight ones they had allowed. He had not come by his god-like looks and magnetic attraction naturally; he had been one of a host of “pretty boys” who were consorts to the Divine Empress, the male counterparts to the most glamorous Fluxgirls and possessing the same overendowments and insatiable appetites, who existed to service and carry out every whim of their Fluxlord. When the Divine Empress had refused to make an accommodation with the Empire, she had fallen, as had so many Fluxlords, and Coydt van Haas had been there to pick up the pieces most useful to him. Champion’s long pent-up frustration and rage was ready made for the master wizard’s plans, and that hatred translated into tremendous aggressiveness, a cold and callous ruthlessness that had matched Coydt’s own, and a burning urge to get even with everyone female.

  He was quite dangerous, although useful and politically naive. Much of the old officer corps had come from origins similar to his and he retained its loyalty. He was content to run the army while others ran the day-to-day affairs of New Eden, but he could be pushed just so far. In the end, however, even he had to concede that Tilghman’s plans would make defense far easier in military terms, and many of the others agreed in the end that it would also make administration and government far easier and more efficient.

  Sligh had never been one to really like the plan, but he tried to keep as politically neutral as possible, and after clinically and professionally explaining the plan he couched his own objections in scientific terms.

  “We don’t know what the ultimate effects are,” he told them. “I expect some cooling, perhaps greater seasonal variances. From a climatological point of view, I can predict changes but not what changes, for so much depends on what comes out, as it were. It was intended to be part of a mosaic—a puzzle—and not a whole in and of itself. Its effect on the rest of World will be significant, but again there’s no way to say just how. Certainly, while it will be irreversible here, it will not produce a chain reaction, although if all clusters were so treated it certainly would.”

  “But will you ever know for certain, speaking as a scientist, without doing it?” Tilghman asked him pointedly.

  “No. The machinery and its instructional sets are far too complex for any human mind. They are the products of generations of evolutionary research under conditions we could not hope to match. These are machines and instructions and languages designed by machines which were also designed by machines—how far back I cannot say. We have the end product but not what designed and produced them.”

  “So you see, gentlemen—it’s what we have, permanently and forever, or this last gamble on something dramatically different but something which will secure New Eden forever. I call for a vote.” Tilghman sat back and breathed a sigh. He wouldn’t have called the meeting if he hadn’t thought he had the votes, but some of the questioners in the debate had sounded less firm than he’d thought and now he wasn’t so certain.

  The vote, however, was seven to three in his favor, with Sligh abstaining as usual. Champion was not happy, but this was not the time, place, or issue on which to stake his future.

  “Very well,” said Adam Tilghman, satisfied and a little excited by this now that it was imminent. “Doctor, when can you be ready?”

  Sligh shrugged. “I can set it up in a matter of weeks. That’s no problem, if we have the people to trigger the machines, and I now believe we have men with sufficient power to do that among our own local ranks. It doesn’t take much of the power, just enough to issue a single command to execute. We could, in fact, use just half the amplifiers we’re now using in the communications net without moving them very far.”

  The Chief Judge nodded. “That’s fine. I will ask the army to notify those Fluxlords who might give us some problems and give them time to vacate. We’ll call it a potentially dangerous testing of a new system that could cause some temporary disruptions in Flux. We want none of them to believe it is permanent, however. General, we must be prepared to ruthlessly move on those who ignore us and remain. We want no hostile populations in our midst.”

  Champion nodded. “I don’t think it’ll be much of a problem.” The best and most powerful Fluxlords had been vanquished in the days of the Empire in the southern cluster, and most of those who remained were small ones with relatively limited powers or populations. There were a few, including Pericles, not under their control, but these were not considered much of a threat. “I might ask Doctor Sligh, though, a question,” the general added.

  “Yes?”

  “Would it be possible, considering the number of amplifiers out there now for the communications network, to program and create a grid ahead of your main wave that would impose the basic master spells we used on the populations of Nantzee and Mareh on those caught in the middle of all this?”

  Sligh thought about it. “The answer is basically no, because we lack the power to cover such an area, and while we can increase the number of amplifiers, we are working with a finite and regulated amount of power. The losses we incur now are negligible, but measurable. To do what you suggest would dilute everything, and call the entire project into question.”

  Tilghman, anxious to mollify Champion, thought about it. “But do we have to do it to tens of thousands of square kilometers of void in any event?” he asked them rhetorically. “We know the cluster. We know where the people are, where the Fluxlands are. None are so large as to require more than three amplifiers, most one or two. Timing is crucial, of course, but our communications system is functioning. If the attacks could be made a matter of seconds before the main project was engaged, or time-linked so that
they traveled just a moment ahead of the main wave in each case, it would give us what we needed. The few thousand in the void would be minor irritants, easily expelled, captured, or integrated into the system afterwards.”

  The scientist shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea if it’ll work in whole or in part, but I see nothing particularly against it if you wish it except that I’ll need a few more weeks of preparation and a few more operators. The worst I can see happening is that we wind up with the same result we’d have by not trying it.”

  “But if it does work,” Champion said, “we’ll convert our enemies on the spot and by the time the rest of the world reacts we will be the dominant force in it for all time.”

  Matson was loading up his packs when Jeff and Sondra came over to him. He glanced up, but continued his work. Unlike a wizard, he had to take a certain amount of supplies with him on long journeys in Flux, although he could supplement by using the caches in stringer pockets.

  “I understand you’re going to New Eden,” Jeff said casually.

  The old stringer nodded. “That’s about it. Got business there I can’t avoid.”

  “I still don’t like you going in there alone,” Sondra told him. “There’s no telling what they might do once they have you.”

  “Try and convert me, most likely, but nothin’ more. They’re just people like any others around this world. As long as I’m representing the Guild and not goin’ in as an individual they’ll behave themselves. They got to live on the same planet we do, and there’s no percentages to pissing off the Guild. Still, if you’re that worried, you can always come along.”

  “Sure. If I make myself into one of their Fluxgirls and act the proper slave.”

  “Or make yourself into a man. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Jeff stared at Sondra. “You’ve changed into a man’.’”

  She laughed. “Sure. Didn’t you try it as a woman during your early lessons’?”

  “Well, we did the spells, sure, but just as an exercise.”

  “I did it for two whole years including riding string. You can never really understand men unless you live as one. You ought to try it the other way around. You guys don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Don’t embarrass him, daughter,” Matson chided. “Any wizard who likes himself as he is has a point in his favor. You’re still beggin’ the question, though. Go or stay?”

  “It really doesn’t make any difference to you, does it?” she asked him, a little angry.

  “A little time as one of those Fluxgirls might give you a whole new perspective on what the common folks’ lives are like,” he responded calmly. “Still, I’d spend half my time worrying about you and not get a full mind to the business at hand. The freer I am to move the safer I’ll be. You know that.”

  She nodded, came to him, and kissed him. “I know. But you take some of your own advice. Don’t go believing your own legend.”

  He stopped what he was doing, turned, and faced her, a dead serious look on his face. “Ain’t nothin’ in my legend that’s not fact. I always expected to be bumped off sooner or later, but it won’t be in New Eden. I understand them and they understand me. You just watch yourself here. They’re up to something over there in New Eden. Lots of troops running around in Flux of late, or so I hear, and lots of warnings to Fluxlords to get out or get hurt when they test something big. They got word to Mervyn just this morning, which is why I think it’s time I got along.”

  Sondra looked over at Jeff. “You know about this?”

  He nodded. “I got the original message. We’ve got two weeks to clear out temporarily or suffer the consequences, whatever they are. Mervyn thinks it’s a test of some new kind of super amplifier.”

  “Is Mervyn going?” Sondra asked.

  “He’s taking the precaution of moving his most valuable records and research and most of his people to a temporary pocket outside the cluster, but that’s all,” Jeff replied. “I think he’s more curious than afraid and wouldn’t want to miss what they’re trying.”

  Matson nodded. “Still, a super amplifier would drain a lot of Flux energy. You’ve already seen what just one regular amplifier could do in the hands of a man who knew how to use it. Pericles might collapse like a house of cards and sweep the bunch of you with it.”

  Jeff was unmoved. “Still, sir, I’d like to come with you.”

  “To New Eden?”

  “Yes. It’s the first time I’ve had a way in.”

  Matson shook his head from side to side. “No, son. Same thing applies to you as to her, and if you think you’re a better shot or bareknuckle fighter than she is, forget it. Besides, all she wants is to keep an eye on the old man. I’d lose the whole show and any chance of success now or in the future if my associate made an attempt on Judge Tilghman’s life. Uh, uh, son. Sorry. No, you, Mervyn, Sondra, and Spirit and that Soul Rider of hers should be strong enough together to get out in one piece. I’m not so sure if you break up and scatter.”

  “What about you?” Jeff asked him. “What’s your protection?”

  “Me? I’m gonna be guest of honor in their own Anchor. I’m gonna be the safest outsider in the whole damned cluster.”

  11

  SOME COMMUNICATIONS DIFFICULTIES

  It had been more than half his lifetime since Matson had ridden this particular string to this particular location, and almost that since he’d been in or near the place at all. It wasn’t as easy as the old days even to get here; armed patrols backed by amplifiers checked every bit of all strings leading to or from this point, and he’d already had to pass several dozen checkpoints. As a stringer this offended him greatly; the void was a place without governments and rulers, where a man was free and independent and the only authority his quick mind and reflexes and maybe a good gun. The stringers had owned and controlled the void since the beginning, and finding it in the hands of others, even in this relatively small area, made him feel as if his house had been robbed.

  Still, they had been expecting him, and hadn’t impeded his progress. They had been, in fact, quite kind and helpful, and he hated their lousy guts for it.

  There was a sudden brightening of the void just ahead, and in a few moments he rode through it as if through a curtain of fog and into a warm, bright day. The Anchor apron was another armed camp, this one bristling with well-disciplined troops, but he’d expected that. In their own land they could play at anything they wanted; they just shouldn’t be in his.

  The old stone wall still rose up in front of him and went off in both directions as far as the eye could see. Both men and machines manned the top of it for that distance and probably completely around the Anchor, and he knew that the trick that had taken them into Anchor wouldn’t work twice. The old, thick Gate, with its ancient booby traps, was still there as well, but they had rigged it so that both great doors were open at the same time. He had no doubt that they had defenses that made the double doors unnecessary in this day and age.

  He rode straight to the guard post at the Gate and pulled up, ignoring the others, reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a large envelope and handed it to one of the sentries. The soldier opened it, then gave him the onceover with his eyes. Finally he turned to another sentry and said, “This is the one they told us to expect. Notify Major Taglia.” He handed the papers back to Matson, who put them back in his saddlebag. “Go on through and hold up on the other side,” the sentry instructed him. “You’ll be met in a couple of minutes.”

  Matson nodded, tapped his hat brim with his finger, and rode on through. Then he stopped, dismounted, lit a cigar, and settled back to wait for his escort.

  Major Taglia proved to be a short, stocky man with bushy black hair and an olive complexion. Matson got up and shook hands as they exchanged introductions.

  “Mr. Matson, it’s an honor to meet you. They still drill your theory and tactics in school here.”

  “Didn’t know I had those things,” the stringer responded. “I wonder if I
wrote the textbook?”

  Taglia looked blank, and Matson rescued him.

  “We’ve got a ways to go, if I remember rightly, Major,” he said calmly. “You want me to just follow the road or do I get company?”

  “I’ll accompany you, sir,” the major responded. “We’re something of a closed society, as you may know, and it’ll be a lot easier if you have someone in authority along.”

  Matson nodded. “Might as well get started, then. I assume it’s still a good two-day trip to the big city.”

  Taglia seemed awed and uncomfortable with the old stringer, and it was easy to see his problem. On the one hand, Matson was something of a hero and legend in New Eden, the man who’d shown that you didn’t need Flux power to survive or even triumph, and who had worked out the deal for New Eden’s independence to save the lives of the population. Still, legends are awesome things, particularly when real life actually does measure up to the mental image, and Taglia was acutely aware that this man was both extremely dangerous and an outsider not likely to be too keen on the ways of the land he’d helped bring into being.

  Taglia joined him on a sleek, black military horse, and the two set off down the broad highway to the capital. “You want my weapons, Major?” Matson asked him.

  “No, that won’t be necessary, sir. We’re honored to have you visit, even in an official capacity. I mean, sir, well, uh, they taught us in school that you were dead.”

  “Son, I die every once in a while, but I always come back when things are important. What you mean about the weapons is that my popgun and my whip aren’t much of a threat against your whole society no matter what I did. The real question is how you know I’m really Matson and not some Flux creature made up to look and sound like him?”

  Taglia grinned. “You know the answer to that, sir. Your credentials are spell-encoded and were checked time and time again as you rode in.”